The New World Order - JayDickWeek2017 - Day 1: Age Reversal
by nabawrites
Summary: Jason was the first Robin. Dick was the second. This is a look at how the events of Jason and Dick's lives would have played out in reverse order. Trigger warnings for character death, abuse, violence, murder, self-hate, injuries and wounds, PTSD, graphic depictions of all of the above, and maybe a few other things that I can't think of.


JayDickWeek2017 – Day 1 – Age Reversal

 _ **A/N So this story is currently unfinished because there are only so many hours in a day and I needed to have it posted by tonight. If you'd like for me to finish/develop this into a full-length fic, please leave a review or pm me to let me know. I'd love to work on this some more, but only if people are actually interested. Enjoy!**_

Jason was very good at being a street kid. Despite his young age, Jason had learned very quickly how to survive, from stealing food to choosing which fights to run from and which fights to win. He quickly garnered a bit of a reputation among the other street kids. "Don't mess with Jason," they would say.

"He's just some kid," would always be said by someone older or someone new to the city.

"Yeah, he's a kid." The others would say. "But he's tough. He never loses a fight. And he never forgets who it was who started the fight in the first place."

They were right, Jason was tough. After everything he'd been through he had no choice but to be exactly that. And he never lost a fight either, mostly because he only fought the fights he knew he could win (which, granted, was a lot of them). And he wasn't an idiot. Somebody he beat in a fight might learn their lesson and stay away, or they might be an idiot and try to get revenge or something equally stupid when they should just be focusing on survival. Jason never took a chance either way and made sure to steer clear of anyone who had ever messed with him in the past. It may or may not make him feel lonely to be all by himself in the great big world of Gotham City, but it definitely made him safer.

Yes, in his two years of living on the streets, Jason had learned a lot of lessons. Unfortunately, he didn't learn the most important rule of all:

 _Never steal from Batman._

He hadn't intended to make such a fatal mistake. He hadn't expected to literally run into the Bat-mobile, which he now knew had an invisible mode. He hadn't planned to take the wheels off. He just figured invisible tires would be worth something and he needed some money. It wasn't his fault that his reputation had given him a following of some of the more helpless street kids, kids who pretty much needed him to survive. It was an honest mistake.

He hadn't expected to get caught either…

But there he was, stripping the Bat-mobile of its tires, when Batman literally dropped from the sky. A firm hand on his shoulder was the only thing that told him he was there, quiet as he was. The hand turned him around and pushed him up against the Bat-mobile. "What exactly do you think you're doing," came the deep, gravelly voice.

Jason had swallowed, fear rising inside of him at the sight of the great Batman, but he refused to back down. He knew predators when he saw them, and he'd been in enough fights to know that showing fear to guys like this was the best way to lose. "I'm stealing your tires. Obviously."

The Bat made a sound, low in his throat, and Jason thought it might have been a laugh if he wasn't Batman. "Is that right?"

Jason nodded. "But I suppose you're here to stop my dastardly deeds?"

The Bat nodded. "The question is, what on earth gave you the guts to steal from me?"

Snorting, Jason dropped the tools he'd been using and leaned leisurely against the Bat-mobile. "I don't know, must have been the hungry mouths to feed. Or something."

Batman said nothing. He only cocked his head to the side and stared at Jason in silence. Jason was normally pretty cool under fire, but the empty eyes of Batman's cowl were on an entirely different level from what Jason was used to. He could only endure if for a few minutes before he sighed harshly and crossed his arms. "What?"

"These hungry mouths," he said. "Where are they?"

Jason was overcome with a desire to protect. "What's it to you?"

Batman huffed. "I'm the good guy, kid. What kind of good guy lets kids starve to death on the streets?" Jason didn't seem impressed. "Look, if I know where they are, I can help them."

"Oh, you mean turn them all in to the authorities and return them to the foster system they just escaped from?"

Batman hesitated. "No. I mean bring them food and make sure the thugs and gangs stay away from them."

Jason was not convinced. "Right, that sounds exactly like what the 'good guys' do." He used air quotes and everything. Adults hate it when kids use air quotes.

Jason had a feeling that if he could see the Bat's eyebrows, they'd be dubiously raised into his forehead. "Kid, I'm a vigilante. I work outside the law to take down thugs. I'm pretty sure I'm well aware of the corruption happening in the very systems that are supposed to protect people. Otherwise I'd be working for them, not around them." The Batman's expression was a bit softer than Jason had always imagined. Almost like a fond smirk. "Don't you think?"

Jason thought about it. It made sense to him, but he never made it past third grade, so what did he know, right? "I don't know, man. I think I'd rather just steal your tires."

Batman sighed and shook his head, his expression mostly unreadable, but Jason could tell from his body language that he was amused. "Stealing is a crime."

"So is being a vigilante."

"Touché," he said, and he looked down the alley in both directions, probably making sure no one was around. "You're a smart kid. Almost too smart for your own good."

"Almost?"

Batman was definitely smirking. "Well, you aren't quite that smart yet." Jason scowled. "But I have a feeling you'll get there eventually. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Mhmm. So are you going to turn me over to the authorities, or are you going to let me go?"

Batman crossed his arms over his chest and hesitated, presumably thinking. Jason started to think there was actually a chance that he'd let him go. Then the Bat shook his head. "I have a better idea."

And that was the day Jason became Bruce Wayne's foster kid. And Batman's protégé.

Jason had been 10 years old when Bruce took him in. He was a quick learner, and he welcomed every bit of knowledge and training that Bruce had to offer. From the fun stuff like martial arts and parkour, to the boring parts like foreign language and math, Jason absorbed everything he could, knowing he'd never have had the chance to learn anything at all without Bruce's tutelage. His favorite stuff, other than learning to kick butt, of course, was probably reading. He had liked it when he went to school for a few years, but Batman taught him to read much better than he had before. As it turned out, Jason had been dyslexic, and nobody had ever figured it out until then. Apparently, his previous school had been too poor to afford proper testing, so they just let the kids figure out how to cope themselves.

Jason had been training with Batman for a year and a half when he finally let him go out on patrol with him. There was a robbery that night, and Gotham City got its first introduction to Robin, the Boy Wonder. The costume was a little silly, but he didn't mind the pixie boots so long as he could use them to kick bad guy butt.

He loved his life as Robin. It was difficult to live the life as Bruce Wayne's foster kid, but he managed. All he had to do was remind himself that after this party or gala or charity ball, he could go out on patrol with Batman and protect the city. He could make his nightly trip back to the kids, the 'Hungry Mouths' as he and Batman continued to refer to them, to give them food and make sure they were safe for the night. Batman made working to stop the corruption in the foster system one of his top priorities, and he swore to Jason that one day it would be safe enough for the Hungry Mouths to find real homes with real families. Jason looked forward to that day, and he used that hope to help fuel him when his body was exhausted from lack of sleep and bruised from their latest encounter with the Villains of Gotham City.

Of course, Batman's work with the foster system was what lead them there.

Richard 'Dick' Grayson was the son of a team of trapeze artists, The Flying Graysons, and he was even beginning to join the act, as young as he was. Fortunately, he wasn't participating in the routine that killed his parents. Unfortunately, nine-year-old Dick Grayson was watching as his parents fell to his deaths. Even more unfortunately, Bruce, who had known the Graysons for years, was also present when the lethal accident occurred. He'd taken Jason to the circus to see the act for the first time, and so they were both present and, thus, immediately ready to help Dick Grayson and get him away from the crowd.

And from his parents' dead bodies, lying broken on the ground beneath the trapeze.

Dick had wailed, crying in agony with his eyes trained on the spot where his parents had landed. When Bruce had pulled him into his arms and finally gotten him to stop crying, he was no longer responsive, just sitting there, still staring at that same spot. Jason recognized some of that grief in himself, having also lost the people he loved, and he sought a way to help. The only thing he could think to do was block the area from Dick's line of sight, so he plopped down on the ground in front of Bruce and Dick.

The disturbance in Dick's vision seemed to wake him up from a trance, and he looked up at Jason's face. The young boy swallowed around the huge lump in his throat and spoke through a dry, throat, his voice cracking, "Who are you?"

Jason gave him a small, sad smile and said, "We're here to help." That was what Robin always told the poor victims of whatever villains were running amuck.

This time, the villain was Death himself, along with his trusty sidekick, Grief. They were old foes of both Bruce and Jason, and when they exchanged a glance and a nod, they both knew that they would do whatever they could to help young Dick Grayson battle these horrible fiends.

And when Batman later discovered that the Graysons' death might not have been an accident, he knew just what he needed to do.

Bruce took in Dick, just as he had taken in Jason. And the Batman took on a second protégé. Twelve-year-old Jason Todd was excited to have a little brother, an extension of their close-knit family.

But the excitement didn't last long.

Jason wanted to blame the circus for Dick's uncanny ability for _literally everything_. Unfortunately, he knew it wasn't just the circus, though that definitely helped. No, Jason knew it was simply pure talent that made Dick such a fast learner, far faster than he'd ever been. It was natural ability that sent him flying through the air, that gave him such impressive flexibility, and that allowed him to pick up on fighting techniques so quickly.

It was simply who he was that made Bruce favor him more.

Of course, Jason had no definitive proof of this. Bruce would say that was bad detective work, to come to a conclusion with no evidence, but Bruce also told him to trust his gut. His gut told him that the young Boy Wonder, Robin 2.0, was quickly gaining more and more favor with Bruce. The smaller boy was more obedient, more likable, and just generally better at pretty much every aspect of the Robin gig. Jason had no doubt that the time was quickly approaching when Batman would no longer need his oldest, the he would be forced to fly the nest.

Well, maybe not forced, necessarily. He had no doubt that Bruce would obviously let him stay. Alfred would kill him if he didn't. But if Jason had any desire to save his pride and actually be of use to the world, he couldn't keep operating under Bruce forever. He would have to drop the Robin act and step into a better role, standing center stage in his own show. Robin had been the perfect training wheels for him to develop into the kind of person and hero he wanted to be, but soon he would no longer need those wheels. When that day came, the eldest bird would fly the coup and find a new nest to make his own.

Ugh. Jason blamed Dick for the bird analogies.

Jason blamed Dick for a lot of things.

It was hard enough to deal with the fact that Dick was naturally more skilled that Jason, but he was also naturally just a really good kid. He was thirteen now, and he had a heart of pure gold. Witty jokes, a kind heart, and the creepiest freaking laugh ever were just a few of his many qualities, and it was really frustrating that Dick was so likable when all Jason wanted to do was hate him for showing him up. But he couldn't do that. Dick saw him as an older brother, an older brother that he was really fond of. He always wanted to spend time together and hang out. He was always telling jokes (seriously, always with the puns), and the kid never took no for an answer. The kid genuinely liked Jason, and he saw him as a brother, friend, and partner in crime.

And Jason'd be damned if he didn't return the sentiment.

Jason knew it would be hard to leave even if he didn't give a shit about Dick.

But right now, Jason was wondering if anything could be harder.

He would never get the chance to leave. Jason knew that now. He was going to be trapped there for the rest of his life. Or what was left of it anyway.

The Joker had made sure of it.

It was supposed to be just another mugging. Jason and Bruce hadn't been worried – why should they have been? Sure, Dick had been left at home to finish up some homework he'd been putting off (who knew Dickie Bird had such an imperfect characteristic as procrastination?), but it was just a couple of thugs trying to steal a lady's purse and jewelry. Nothing they hadn't dealt with plenty of times. Hell, it was nothing Jason hadn't dealt with single-handedly in the last couple years. He could have dealt with this when he was just started out as a 12-year-old.

He guessed it was the fact that they weren't worried that had made it possible for the Joker to sneak up behind him and knock him out.

He guessed that it was because Bruce wasn't worried that he didn't notice when the Joker took him while his back was turned.

He guessed that it was because it was supposed to be easy and simple that Bruce didn't notice right away when he turned around and didn't see Jason kicking ass right there next to him.

But it didn't matter either way. The Joker had dragged him off to a warehouse age the edge of the city, a warehouse indistinguishable from any other warehouse in Gotham. He had tied him up so he couldn't escape, making him completely immobile. Except the Joker hadn't immobilized his mouth. He hadn't gagged him.

Jason supposed that was because the Joker had wanted to hear him scream.

He had fought that with everything in him. He ground his teeth and bit his tongue and swallowed every sound he could, but he hadn't been able to hold out forever. Eventually the screams ripped out of his lungs and tore at his throat until he was too hoarse to make a sound – until he opened his mouth and not a sound came out. The Joker would hear no more screams, because he had no more screams to give.

That crowbar… it wasn't really fair was it? Tying is wrists behind his back so he couldn't resist but had just enough wiggle room to writhe in agony, to try and worm himself as far away from that crowbar as possible, even though he always knew it would never be far enough.

He felt every bone in his body break under the intense beating. The Joker took delight in hearing them crack and give under the weight of his strength. "Robin 1.0," he said. "I wonder if 2.0 will scream this much when I get around to him." The Joker had leaned down to put his face right next to Jason's. It was like they were breathing the same air, and Jason could smell his repugnant breath as it hit his face. "I wonder if he'll last longer, too."

Jason had head-butted him. Nothing was as sweet as knowing that Jason had broken his own nose on the Joker's face before the freak could break it on his crowbar instead. Of course, the fact that it was already broken hadn't kept the Joker from wacking at it a few times any way.

The Joker hadn't said another word about Dick, and Jason found himself smiling from satisfaction. 'Bruce won't let him hurt Dick,' he thought to himself. 'Bruce will learn from this. He'll take better care of his Robin this time around, won't let him get taken like this.'

Joker put down the crowbar, dropping it on the ground by Jason's head. He cackled when Jason flinched. "So I've broken the little birdie's wings, have I?" Jason didn't move or speak, and the Joker took it as confirmation of his victory. "Then I suppose he won't be able to fly away from his cage." Jason had never been more confused in his life as he blearily watched the Joker put on a coat and walk open a door and step out into the snowy night. He looked back over his shoulder at Jason just before closing the door. "I suppose all the little birdie can hope for is that big Daddy Bat makes it soon enough to save him. I think he's rather occupied at the moment though."

The door shut, and Jason couldn't believe that Joker had just left him there, alive.

Maybe he wanted Bruce to see his handiwork. Maybe he wanted Bruce to have to deal with a broken and traumatized sidekick. Maybe he thought leaving him alive like this would hurt Bruce more than killing him would. After all, Jason doubted he could ever make a full recovery. The Joker had taken a sick pleasure in smashing every bone in his feet, and Jason didn't think he'd ever be able to walk again, let alone run, jump, kick, or leap off buildings. Maybe the Joker thought a crippled Robin was worse than a dead one.

Jason didn't care. He wouldn't let the Joker win.

It was difficult, and oh so painful, because of his broken ribs, but he managed to roll himself over and summersault his way to getting his hands in front of him instead of behind. It was difficult, in an agonizing way, to push himself to his feet, what with his broken and battered body. When he was standing, he realized that his feet didn't hurt. He couldn't feel them at all. He felt like his feet had been cut off and he was walking on ankles-turned-stumps. The sheer agony emanating from the joint told him the Joker had broken his ankles as well, and he wondered if anything had managed to escape the crowbar's wrath.

Unable to maintain his balance without working feet and ankles, he fell forward, back onto his stomach and hands. The fall jarred his broken ribs, and he would have screamed if his voice still worked. As it was, he barely managing to breathe at all; he could hardly afford to waste a bunch of air on pointless screams.

He doubted there was anyone to hear him anyway.

The Joker had said Bruce was occupied. Jason didn't think he would be able to get there in time to save him from dying of blood loss or choking on the fluid pouring into his lungs. His only hope was to get outside and hope the cold from the snow slowed the bleeding and someone on the dock saw him and called for help. His only hope was to get outside.

And he couldn't wait for Bruce to come and get him.

It felt impossible, what with his broken fingers, but Jason managed to drag himself to the door where the Joker had exited. He pushed on the door from his position on the ground, hoping to feel it give. All he heard was the clack of metal on metal. The door was chained from the outside.

Jason had no strength to break the door down. He had no energy to drag himself to another exit and hope for better luck. He had no voice to scream for help. And he had no time left to wait for a rescue. Jason Todd was going to die in the next five minutes, and if Bruce didn't show up soon he would simply show up to find a dead body instead of a broken and bruised protégé.

Of course, that was when he finally heard it.

He blamed the concussion for why he'd missed the beeping all that time. He blamed the ringing in his ears after Joker had bashed them with the crowbar a couple times. He blamed his single-minded focus on getting outside.

He blamed anything and everything, but that didn't change the fact that a bomb was set to blow up in the next 15 seconds.

Jason had 15 seconds to come up with a way out of that warehouse, but he didn't bother. He knew he wouldn't make it, and he doubted even Batman could get in the warehouse, scoop him up, and drag him out in the remaining time. Instead of wasting his time trying to get himself out, Jason spent 15 seconds thinking about what would happen once Batman found out he was dead. He assumed Bruce would find his body himself when the warehouse exploded and Batman rushed to find the cause (assuming there would be anything left of his body).

He figured Bruce would grieve for him. He figured Alfred would grieve, too. And Dick…

Jason spent 2 of the last five seconds despairing over the fact that Dick would have to mourn yet another family member.

When he heard the chains outside the door rattling and a deep voice yelling, "JASON," he spent the last 3 seconds thinking, 'Now the Joker will pay. Bruce will never get away with this.'

And then he thought no more.

Because that's when he blew up.

He woke up.

He hadn't been expecting _that_.

Oblivion, heaven, hell, maybe even purgatory – those he could believe. But waking up? Hell no. He literally got _blown_ to hell, so why the hell was he waking up?

And why the hell couldn't he breathe?

Jason figured out a little too late that he was underwater. He sucked in a big gulp of it before he realized, and he choked as he broke the surface, rocketing up from the board he'd been lying on. As he fought for breath, he looked around himself to see a bunch of strangers standing around a green-ish pool a water (which he was sitting in) and chanting in some other language, one Batman had yet to teach him.

He coughed up the water in his lungs and sucked in air like a vacuum cleaner. Once he was able to breathe again, he regained feeling in his body. And then the only thing he was aware of was agony. The agony of death, and the agony of life reborn.

Jeeze, no wonder babies cry when they're born. If life hurts this much he wanted to stay dead.

The people gathered around the pool continued to chant, their eyes fixed on him in a way that Jason couldn't help but fear. He was in a place he'd never been, surrounded by people he didn't know, having just woken from death to find his body in agony. Fear took over and he shot up from the board he was sitting on. He ripped himself out of the pool, fighting off anyone in his path. His muscles screamed, and Jason wondered if it was from disuse because he had been dead or because they hadn't healed from the damage the Joker inflicted on him. He didn't care. All he wanted was to escape.

As he fought his way through the crowd, every face looked like that of the Joker, every hand held a crowbar, and the fire of a bomb raced towards him. He refused to be swallowed alive by the flames! He pushed himself forward, taking out the Jokers before they could take him out. He screamed, surprising himself by the return of his voice. Several Jokers lay dead behind him as he charged forward, but it was not enough to satisfy his rage, or to calm his fear.

He didn't stop until he hit the snow. He was out now! He escaped the Joker, the crowbar, the bomb – he made it! He never thought he'd see the snow again, but here he was, out in the cold, biting air, his bare feet freezing in the snow, his-

His feet… He was standing… How could he be standing? His feet had been completely destroyed by the Joker, but now, apart from the bite of the cold, his feet didn't hurt at all. They were perfectly fine…

Jason reached up to feel his nose, his very much not-broken nose. It was supposed to be broken! It was the one thing he had managed to keep the Joker from breaking, but only by breaking it himself first. Why wasn't it broken?

Maybe the Joker had never captured him? Maybe none of it had never happened. Maybe Jason had never died at all.

It was then that Jason finally looked up from the snow in front of him. He looked out at the world, took in the view, and promptly fainted.

The sight of the mountain range in front of him was just too much.

It had taken time for him to accept. Waking up in that infirmary, having the leader of the League of Shadows himself tell him that he'd died and been brought back to life by some magic pool of water, and slowly recovering from the time he'd spent dead. His muscles had shrunk from being so still for so long, his brain had ceased all activity, and all the fluids in his body had settled at the body and were slowly learning to move again. The burnt skin had been replaced by new skin in seconds, and it was taking time for it to learn to stretch and move with his body. His lungs, which had filled with fluids after being punctured by a broken rib, were remembering how breathing worked, and it was taking a while for the asthmatic feeling to dissipate.

Even after being released from the infirmary, the League wouldn't let him leave. Under the guise of making sure he was strong enough to survive out in the world, they trained him in their ways, from martial arts to secrecy, from how to use weapons to how to most efficiently kill your enemies. While it was irritating and made him feel like a prisoner, he couldn't help but be grateful for the opportunity to learn more and grow stronger than he ever could have under Batman's sole tutelage. He did wish they would tell him what was happening in the world though. They said they wouldn't tell him what had happened to Bruce or Dick or Gotham so he could stay focused on his training, but it was yet another lie. They wouldn't tell him anything so they could control him.

It mostly worked.

But not really, because he was staying only until he had learned all he could. Then he would brave the snow and the mountains and try to find his way home. He missed Gotham. He missed Bruce.

He missed Dick. He missed Dick a lot.

And he wanted to see what had happened to the Joker's body once Batman had finished him off to avenge Jason's death. He couldn't wait to here just what kind of death the Arkham Knight had decided was appropriate punishment for killing his eldest protégé, his first son.

Until the time came though, he focused on his studies, both mental and physical. He honed is instincts, trained his reflexes, and strengthened his mind. Only when he had reached his peak would he leave the League of Shadows. Only then could he be strong enough. Only then could he return to Gotham City.

Jason really couldn't believe it. He'd been dead for a month, he'd taken two months to fully recover from his death, and he'd trained with the League for half a year. That gave Bruce and Dick nine months to mourn, and it gave Batman nine months to catch and kill the Joker.

As far as he could tell, the mourning was the only part that had actually happened.

You see, Jason hadn't just left the League of Shadows and shown up at Wayne Manor's front door. He had to know what was going on, what he would be walking into. And he wasn't at all pleased with what he discovered.

He had hoped his death hadn't been for nothing. He had hoped it would achieve two things. The first thing he wanted it to achieve was a realization within Bruce that dropping villains like the Joker off in Arkham wasn't enough to stop them. It would never be enough, because people like the Joker don't stop unless you stop them, permanently. He had hoped his death would have been the inspirational push to motivate Bruce to finally cross that useless line of his and kill the Joker.

That hadn't happened at all. According to the newspapers he'd read and the reports he'd seen on TV and the internet, Batman had broken every bone in the Joker's body, but he had stubbornly refused to break his rule. The Joker had been held in prison long enough for his body to heal, and then he escaped, again. Since his escape, he'd wreaked havoc on Gotham City and killed dozens of people – armed robberies, bloody murders, and mass terrorism had been common place in Jason's home city for the past few months, and Batman had only managed to catch him a few times.

And each time the Joker escaped Arkham within days, only to do more damage to a city that had been given almost no time to recover.

If that hadn't been enough to enrage Jason, then he need only think about the second thing he had hoped his death would accomplish. If he thought about it deep within himself, he knew this was the most important one to him, the one that shouldn't even have been hard, that shouldn't have required Bruce to break a single one of his dumb rules. It should have been common sense, and Bruce should have done it on pure instinct.

The second thing Jason had wanted his death to accomplish was for Bruce to protect Dick. The Batman lost his first protégé, but Bruce Wayne had lost his eldest son. Jason had thought that would be enough for Bruce to protect Dick with everything that was in him, to keep the Joker or Two-Face or any other psychotic asshole away from him no matter what it cost.

Instead, Dick had been in more dangerous situations in the last nine months than either he or Jason had ever been in in the years since they each started as Robin. Dick Grayson had been kidnapped several times, and so had Robin, and each time Dick had been saved or had saved himself in the last second and had made it home with bruised, battered, and far too close to death for Jason's comfort. It should have been too far for Bruce's comfort too, but it hadn't seemed to have made any difference.

In fact, if the news reports were to be believed, Bruce had taken in a second protégé. Not only did Batman appear to have another kid following him around and helping him out all the time, but some kid named Tim Drake had become Bruce's new ward. Apparently his parents were murdered (what a coincidence, so had Bruce's parents, and Dick's parents, and Jason's dad, and then his mom, who had been after Bruce took him in), and Bruce took him in. The murderer was then caught just weeks later by Batman.

It was as if Jason's death hadn't taught him anything. In fact, it was as if Jason's death hadn't meant anything to him at all.

If it had, Bruce would have made sure it could never happen again, not give the Joker more targets to hit with his crowbar.

Coming back to the world had told Jason only one thing: Bruce couldn't be trusted to save Dick. If anything, Bruce only put Dick in more danger.

So Jason would save him from Bruce.

Jason didn't know how he was going to save Dick from Bruce.

He didn't really have much in the way of plans at the moment. He was in Gotham City, and he was alone. That was all he knew.

Jason didn't want to tell Bruce he was back. He wasn't sure how, and he wasn't sure how he would be received. Jason's trip to the afterworld and back had changed him, in more ways than one. One of those ways he had changed was morally. He had always had differing views from Bruce's about how Batman and Robin should operate as vigilantes in a city like Gotham, but now those views were stronger, and they were so much farther from Bruce's than they had ever been before.

Jason didn't know how to save Dick from Bruce, but he had a rising suspicion that the best way might just be to do the job Bruce couldn't do, or the job he refused to do, more like it. He just might have to become the vigilante he had always thought Bruce should be. Instead of waiting for Bruce to come to reason and do what needed to be done, Jason would have to do it himself.

But he couldn't do it as Jason Todd. Jason Todd was dead, and as scary as a dead guy walking might be, he knew Batman would catch wind of some guy named Jason Todd running around Gotham City and cleaning up the streets of its… filth. No, Jason had to become someone else, someone who could strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, as cliché as that sounded. Batman had done one thing right, and that was cultivating the Batman's image and legacy. The Batman had become a legend that everyone feared, except for the Joker, but he was always the exception.

Jason needed his own persona, his own image to cultivate. And he couldn't let anyone know who he was. He had a feeling a domino mask wouldn't be enough to protect his identity if he ever ran into Bruce or Dick, which was likely if he got anything done at all. Both Batman and Robin had seen Jason in a domino mask every night for over five years, so he doubted they would fail to recognize him now, even if they thought he was dead.

He'd have to cover his whole face if he intended to keep his return a secret for as long as possible. He had no doubt that they would eventually find out who he was. Bruce was the greatest detective on earth, and Dick was persistent and stubborn and he never took no for an answer. They would figure it out, whether because Jason would eventually mess up and give them a clue or just through pure tenacity. It didn't matter which. The only questions that mattered were how much could he accomplish before they found him out, and what would they do with him once they figured out it was him behind the mask.

Or helmet. Jason liked the idea of a helmet.

A red helmet.

He knew he'd run into Batman and Robin eventually, but he hadn't expected it to happen in the first two weeks.

And he hadn't expected to see Robin first.

Only Robin.

Dick was 15 now, and he was still just as short as he'd been when he was 12. That is to say, he was small. Very small. From what he knew of Tim Drake, they were close to the same size despite the four year age gap. It wouldn't be hard for most people to believe Batman only had one Robin, and the fact that both of his Robins were the about the same size, and Bruce Wayne's two living kids were both about the same size, and the fact that Bruce Wayne had lost a son around the same time that Batman seemed to lose a Robin…

Well, let's just say Jason couldn't imagine why Batman's secret identity was still a secret.

Though Dick hadn't gained any height, that was apparently the only thing about him that hadn't improved. Jason was baring witness to that now.

The moment Jason had first shown up on the Gotham scene, blood red helmet concealing his identity and brown leather jacket making him look utterly fashionable (what, just because he was a formerly dead former street rat didn't mean he didn't have style), word spread across the city like flame in a forest fire. Jason had been killing assholes and taking names, and that sort of thing doesn't stay on the DL for long, especially when some of those assholes happened to be crime lords and gang leaders who had been running amuck in the Gotham underground since Jason was in diapers.

Killing in general usually got around to the local vigilantes pretty quickly, but when it was at the scale on which Jason was executing it, Batman wouldn't have been able to leave it alone for long. Jason figured he probably should have played it safe in the beginning, taking it slow and keeping his circle small, but Jason didn't have time for that. Gotham didn't have time for that. Decades of crime and corruption had rotted the city to nothing more than a blackened husk, and Jason had every intention of digging out the rotten core so a new, purer one could grow. If he had to sacrifice himself to do it, then he would. It was the only way to save the city.

It was the only way to make Dick safe.

So Jason was taking out whoever was a problem. Most of Gotham was a problem in some form or fashion, so Jason just sort of aimed for the bastards at the top of the pile of shit. He had been in the process of taking out a particularly revolting crime lord, Vigor Lutz, when Robin showed up. He knew it was Dick because Drake had started wearing a hooded cloak in addition to his domino. Dick's costume had remained largely the same. The only difference was that now he had pants instead of those ridiculous scale-covered underwear.

So he held up the gun to Lutz' head and offered to let him say some last words, and the next thing he knows Dick is dropping out of the sky and kicking the gun out of his hands. "Stop!" Robin yelled, standing between Jason and Lutz.

Jason made an incredulous expression, not that Dick could tell through his helmet. "You realize you just saved the life of a crime lord that specializes in giving drugs to kids, right?"

Dick put his hands on his hips (reminding Jason just how sassy he could be). "You realize I just saved the life of a human being and stopped you from committing murder, right?" Dick smirked. "Well, _another_ murder, that is."

Jason rolled his eyes (again, not that Dick could see it. He was seriously debating the practicality of this helmet idea) and crossed his arms, side-eyeing his gun, which had slid across the warehouse. He knew he wouldn't use it on Dick, but he might need it for Lutz depending on how this played out.

And even still, he couldn't afford to appear soft for the Bat squad. Not with the goals he had in mind. He had to make this look good.

"That's nice, junior. Where's your old man?" If Bats let him run around unsupervised even after everything that had happened, he would have hell to pay.

"Stopping a robbery over on 5th. What's it to you?"

"It's not safe for twelve year olds be all by themselves at night." Jason took a step toward Dick, trying to look non-threatening. "Tell you what, how about you let me finish up here, and I'll take you home, okay?"

Dick's entire face twisted in irritation. "Why does everybody think I'm twelve? I'm not twelve. I haven't been twelve for years, thank you very much."

Jason snorted. "I know. I was insulting you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason saw Lutz trying to sneak away while he and Dick were distracted. Jason whipped out a backup gun and shot him in the leg. "I'm not done with you yet, Lutz. Just sit tight and let Mom and Dad finish this up. I'll be with you in just a sec."

Lutz practically snarled at him form where he'd fallen on the ground. Dick smirked. "I assume you're 'Mom' is this scenario?"

Jason shook his head. "Nice try, little bird." Dick flinched at the nickname. Jason cleared his throat and tried to cover it up. "I'm taller, manlier, and, if we're being honest here, way hotter. You can't hope to compete." Hopefully insulting him would help him forget about the nickname Jason let slip. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a child-killer to un-alive." Jason made a move towards Lutz.

"Or," Dick interjected, stepping between him and Lutz again, "you could just let me take him to the police and you could not get more blood on your hands. That sounds a lot better to me. What do you say?"

Jason sighed. "If your shirt is dunked in water to the point where it is completely soaked, does dunking it again make it more wet, or is it still just as soaked as before?" Dick faltered, opening his mouth and then closing it again when he couldn't think of a reply. "Getting more blood on my hands won't change anything. They'll always be just as soaked." Jason tried to step around him again, but Dick intercepted, arms crossed in defiance. Part of Jason felt guilty, knowing that Bruce had probably drilled into Dick the importance of 'clean hands'. But he knew he was doing what needed to be done. "Look kid, I get it, you have morals, and I'm happy for you. Those are real important. But this is the only real way to get anything done in Gotham."

Dick exhaled harshly. "Don't patronize me, Hood. Killing a killer doesn't change the number of killers in the world."

Jason barked a harsh laugh. Batman had told him that a million times. "And if I kill a hundred killers? Doesn't that mean there are 99 less?" Dick didn't speak, but he didn't look any less determined, either. "And if I kill a killer who only kill innocent civilians, doesn't that mean fewer innocents will be killed, regardless of the number of killers in the world?"

Dick shook his head. "Putting them in prison keeps them from killing innocents, too."

Jason laughed again. "Right, because Lutz here hasn't escaped prison four times."

Glancing over Dick's shoulder, Jason saw that Lutz was trying to crawl away. He shot him in the arm this time, though it was tricky to aim around Dick. "I said I wasn't finished with you yet, bastard!"

Lutz cried out in pain and fell forward on his face. "You bastard!" he yelled, clearly unhappy with his treatment.

Jason smirked. "Yes, actually, I am a bastard. What of it, bitch?"

"I'm going to kill you, you motherfucker!"

Jason heaved a dramatic sigh. "See, kid? Prison won't do him any good. He'll always be a little piece of shit."

Dick shook his head. "Using their methods makes you just as bad as they are."

"Or just as efficient. Or just as effective. Or just as serious. Take your pick, kid. They're all adjectives. I'm only interested in verbs. If you aren't going to help me, stay out of my way. I have to do what I have to do." Jason pushed Dick aside and held his gun to Lutz' head. He made sure that he pushed Dick hard enough for him to fall. He didn't want him to see this.

He pulled the trigger.

"No!"

The next vigilante he ran into was the Batman himself.

Some assholes were dragging drugged out girls into a crate at the docks, probably to sell as sex slaves abroad. Jason ground his teeth as he jumped down from another crate and kicked their asses. There were eight of them, though Jason didn't know why they felt like they needed so many people just to carry some girls who were too high to know their lives were in danger.

Maybe they knew he would come. In that case, they were idiots to think eight of them would be enough, even with most of them armed.

Jason had taken out the first six and was turning to deal with the seventh when a batarang landed in the trafficker's neck. The man collapsed to the ground just as Batman swung out of hiding and roundhoused the eighth man in the face, knocking him out in one blow.

'The old man still got it,' Jason thought to himself, glad his smirk was hidden under his helmet. Where his helmet had been a disadvantage with Tim, it was a great advantage with Bruce. Jason relied heavily on facial expressions to get across his meaning, but with the helmet blocking a certain giant bat's view, all Bruce had to go on was Jason's very limited body language. Jason thought that this just might have been the first time that Bruce wasn't able to figure out what he was thinking with a simple glance.

Bruce turned away from the unconscious baddies and faced Jason, his arms crossed in an attempt to be intimidating. It would have worked if Jason hadn't pretty much been raised by the man.

Also, Jason had been dead before. The Bat-Glare wasn't really all that big a deal anymore.


End file.
